


Heaven's Gate

by bearmitage



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale is "just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing" (Good Omens), Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), But I am more than willing to sacrifice my sleep for them again, Car Sex, Choking, Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley is Bad at Communicating (Good Omens), Crowley is a Tease (Good Omens), Dom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Dom/sub Undertones, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Gentle Dom Aziraphale (Good Omens), I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), Post-Canon, Sex in the Bentley (Good Omens), Smut, Sub Crowley (Good Omens), Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), What else is new?, and, and a bit of, and also, oh and of course
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 12:54:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28600278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bearmitage/pseuds/bearmitage
Summary: Come hell or high water, Crowley may need to face the fact that he might lose his long-reigned position of the Master of Temptations inevitably.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 60





	Heaven's Gate

_Aziraphale is a bastard._

  
  


He will give you his signature irritating and overbearing loving smile before cold-bloodedly saying ‘no’ in your face and no matter how hard you work on trying to convince or tempt him, he will just simply never fall for that. Well, the last part, to give him some credit that he does deserve, is not entirely true as Crowley managed to tempt (more like ‘to beg’ but who is keeping the bloody score anyhow?) Aziraphale from times to times.

  
  


**_‘One look from you, and I’m on that faded love.’_ **

  
  


Oh yes, Aziraphale is definitely a _bastard_.

  
  


It is almost like Aziraphale has the book on how to handle him somewhere hiding in his adorable little bookshop since the angel knows _goddamn_ well how to dodge every temptation or question coming from Crowley. And as much as Crowley would like to tell himself that he knows how to deal with any kind of rejections or perseverance from the beginning of times, he cannot be sure when it comes to Aziraphale. Crowley knows a lot, of course, like how to deal with Aziraphale when he would like the angel to get on board with him on some of his not-very-heavenly plan (the keys are foods or old books or hot cocoa, just so you are aware), that does not mean he knows _everything_.

  
  


Like how to _tempt_ Aziraphale to stop _torturing_ him like this.

  
  


**‘** **_Out of my body, I am flying above.’_ **

  
  


It is cold in his Bentley, especially for him since he has no clothes on. Thanks to the quick snap of miracle, not a single soul on the busy street of Nightlife London can see what is going on inside of his car. And even if they do, Crowley barely has any ability to do anything about it as he is completely dazed in this faint yet intoxicating scent of the mixture between Aziraphale’s new cologne his barber suggested and the angel’s sweat Crowley knows too well that is lingering in the air.

  
  


**‘** ** _If there were any left of me, I would give it to you.’_ **

  
  


“Ah, angel, fucking hell,” Crowley groans in his throat whilst the song is blasting loudly, drowning him in all these overwhelming feelings. “ _Oh God_ —”

  
  


“Oh, you little foul serpent, I will never dare compare myself to the Almighty,” Aziraphale replies, rather jokingly and smugly, before placing another kiss on his neck and resuming the work with his hand. Crowley can barely keep sitting straight at this point, hands weary and eyelids heavy. He watches how the angel is picking him apart with his skilled mouth and lips through his own sweat-soaked red hair and— “Are you still with me, dearest?”

  
  


“Yes, yes, _ngk_ , yes angel, I— sorry,”

  
  


He frantically answers as if he would get punished if he could not get a word out fast enough. His limbs are weak and his shaky and raspy voice sounds foreign to his own ears. Aziraphale’s face leaves his neck, the angel smiles fondly, the smile that makes Crowley _saunter vaguely downwards_ for him. And the most terrifying part is Crowley just keeps letting that happen. He simply cannot stop it.

  
  


“No need to apologise, darling, you are doing amazing,” Crowley tries to gain some friction by rocking his hip but with one swipe, the angel has his arm around his waist and pulls him even closer, stopping him from moving and making him almost choke. His arms fumble for the angel and his fingers dig into the back of Aziraphale’s neck, holding on to his dear life. It is just— _oh fuck_. 

  
  


Aziraphale thrust faintly just as though he is punishing Crowley. Perhaps he is. His body is trembling and scorching as if he had a deadly fever. Having that strong hand that is slowly stroking him and the roll from Aziraphale’s hip that is almost _too much_ yet still _not enough_ , Crowley lets out the sound akin to sob, “Oh, are you alright, my dear?” whispers Aziraphale, almost mockingly. 

  
  


**_‘I’ll tell you that I am fine but I’m a missile that’s guided to you.’_ **

  
  


“Yes, ‘s fine, _fuck_ , ‘m fine, angel. Just— just fucking get on with it, will ya?”

  
  


Crowley is blabbering now, almost like he is speaking in tongues. He is certain that his heart, if he has any, just stopped and then restarted when Aziraphale thrusts up one time, _violently_ if he may add, and hit that spot which sent a bolt to his spine as if the angel just tried to put him in his place. He probably just did. 

  
  


**_‘Go out in the world to start over again and again as many time as you can,’_ **

  
  


Admittedly, he has travelled this world far and wide for these past millennia, away from all things— _from one another,_ and they still always find each other. No matter how many times he has tried to restart from scratch, Crowley unceasingly comes back to finding himself desperate for the angel, in every way possible. Hopelessly, he knows that he will be, one way or another, at Aziraphale’s mercy.

  
  


And though Aziraphale is never once merciless to any beings, Crowley has concluded he might be the only exception, “Well now that is not how you ask others to do what you _want_ , is it, my dear?” his breath hitches when Aziraphale makes the click tongue noise like he is not impressed, and Crowley does not like the angel’s reaction at all. 

  
  


**_‘And in the end, if I don't make it on the list, would you sneak me a wristband?’_ **

  
  


Aziraphale’s hand leaves his soaked and aching member that is flushing red from those emotions, making Crowley hiss for that missing warmth, “What do we say, hmm?”

  
  


The angel pampers kisses on his face gently yet is killing him slowly by rocking his hip, not quite hitting that sweet spot but enough to make Crowley gasp for air, “Do, ah,” he tries to get the word out of his mouth but all of them turn into a helpless moan, “Just, _Christ_ , do it, angel.”

  
  


“I’m afraid I can’t do that, darling,” Aziraphale murmurs into his ear, seeming oddly satisfied with Crowley’s answer. And that perplexes him even more, “Not until you ask _nicely_ like a sweet little thing that you are.”

  
  


But when he hears the word nice, something in him is triggered. 

  
  


_Nice?_ Oh, Crowley is not _nice_. He will never be _nice_. If he wants something, he will try to take it, every way possible, if you must know.

  
  


So he decides that some _temptation_ will not hurt, he is the Master of Temptation after all, so why shouldn’t he put his hard-earned skills to good use?

  
  


Crowley gathers the little strength left in his damp-with-sweat, limbs-heavy and red-as-the-hellfire body before straightening himself up. If Aziraphale does not want to give it to him then he will _tempt Aziraphale to give it_. With his body flushed red with exertion, colour high on his cheeks and pink splotches down his upper body, he starts rocking his hip although his thighs are shaking and his vision is blurry as anything. 

  
  


“I’m not nice, ah— angel,” Bloody hell _,_ if this was the last thing he got to do if he was to sentence to extinction again, he would be bloody fine with it, “Nice is a— fucking hell, Aziraphale!”

  
  


Bastard has the audacity to thrust up, un-fucking-believable, “Sorry, darling, did I interrupt you?”

  
  


It is very rare but Crowley has decided to shut up since talking is overrated anyhow. You do not need to talk to tempt someone after all. Instead, he yanks both of his angel’s hands, _his angel_ , away from his waist and wraps them around his throat before sinking even almost-impossibly further, feeling that massive, literally and metaphorically, angelic member fulfil him. 

  
  


Give it to me, angel, give it to me. 

  
  


Crowley feels his eyes roll into the back of his head when he starts rolling his hip, nail scratching on Aziraphale’s fingers whilst his fingers are encouraging those hands to press on his throat harder and harder, to match the thrust of his hip and the overwhelming feelings that are starting to spill over. 

  
  


One of his hands moves to Aziraphale’s chest, digging into the angel’s flesh, whilst another hand travels down his own body like a serpent before stopping at his own erection and starting stroking it, making one hell of a show out of it. The corner of his mouth moves upwards into a mischievous smirk when he hears the angel’s growl in the back of his throat. 

  
  


**_‘Give me a boost, a boost over heaven's gate.’_ **

  
  


Temptations are his mastery. There is no way Aziraphale, in heaven nor hell, will be able to resist this. 

  
  


“ _Nice,_ angel, nice— ah, _nice is just a four-letter_ ,” His chest is heaving tremendously when he leans in to whisper in the angel’s ear, his serpent tongue lapping lightly on that soft skin and his voice husky from Aziraphale’s fingers that are wrapping around his neck. “Wouldn’t you, wouldn’t you want something, _oh,_ something better than nice? Come on, angel.”

  
  


“Oh, of course, my dear,” Ah, Aziraphale is _close_ to giving him what he wants _,_ and Crowley is _close_ too. See, he did not earn the title of the Master of Temptations by lottery, did he? “I would love something better than nice.”

  
  


Nevertheless, before Crowley can do anything else, Aziraphale flips them over, making Crowley land on his back on his own Bentley seat. The angel takes both of his hands in his own, earning his startling noise, the one that Aziraphale himself must have heard because now the bastard is smirking.

  
  


“I would love something _divine,_ ” Aziraphale shifts himself and lifts one of his legs in the air before placing it on his shoulder. Crowley moans, low and guttural because he did not expect that it could get any deeper. He can feel the angel moving away and before he can stop himself, Crowley pulls him back by grabbing a handful of Aziraphale’s lower back and dragging him in, making both of them groan, “Something _glorious,_ something in—”

  
  


“Don’t you dare say _ineffable,_ angel,” Crowley snarls through his gritted teeth but the tone is bordering on a whine, “Ngkkk— don’t you fucking—”

  
  


“ _Ineffable,_ yes,” the angel smiles down at him, his voice amused, “And I know what you were doing, darling, how does it feel now that you are being in my shoes?”

  
  


“Come— come on, angel,” he says again. Crowley just realises that he sounds halfway on his way to crying and it is confirmed when Aziraphale wipes his tear on his cheek gently with his thumb. 

  
  


**_‘I'm gonna need a boost 'cause everything else is a substitute for your love.’_ **

  
  


He makes another low, helpless sound, almost akin to the wounded animal’s noise, breath hissing on an actual whine when the angel above him places the kiss on his ankle, lips nibbling as his sensitive skin like it is a delicate French crepe.

“Be a dear and say it for me, won’t you?” the angel coos, one hand putting his red hair behind his ear, “You know I have been waiting for six thousand years and I can wait for six thousands more. But you, oh, you poor thing.”

  
  


_Aziraphale is tempting him_ — And as terrifying as it is, come hell or high water, Crowley may need to face the fact that he might lose his long-reigned position of the Master of Temptations eventually. 

  
  


It has been long, too long really, and Crowley is not a man of conviction when it comes to Aziraphale. He needs this, he needs Aziraphale so very badly.

  
  


**_‘_** **_So please come through, honey please, please come through.’_ **

  
  


_“Please,”_ Crowley whimpers, any fights that were in his body previously are completely fucked out of him, _he just surrenders_ , “I can’t, angel, I can’t— _please_ —”

  
  


He does not need to even finish the bloody sentence because Aziraphale is already moving. Crowley wraps his hands around the angel’s face and places his lips rather roughly on Aziraphale’s lips. Their tongues are fighting and the angel’s hip is thrusting into him and it is as _divine, glorious_ and _ineffable_ as Aziraphale has said earlier. 

  
  


The thrust is unearthly syrupy, sweeter than heaven and hotter than hell. And Crowley cannot help but wonder if this is the closest he will ever get to heaven again. Like this, with the angel in his arms telling him how wonderful, delightful, beautiful and meaningful Crowley is to him.

  
  


It is a bloody mess after that, over and done within less two minutes, which is supposed to be fucking embarrassing and ridiculous— but also cannot be helped, to be completely honest. They have been waiting for this for too long that it feels like an eternity at this point. Crowley keeps hearing the gibberish and “ _Oh, Christ, fuck_ — _fucking hell_ ” that are mingling with those gentle and angelic praise words and he is mortified when he realises that the gibberish was his all along, entirely delirious whilst he clutches at Aziraphale’s lower back to pull him even closer.

  
  


They ride it out together and just keep coming and coming and fucking _coming_ , Crowley wraps his arms around Aziraphale tightly as though the angel above him is flying them both up in the sky, high enough that they can touch the heaven and Crowley is about to fall.

  
  


And if this is indeed the closest Crowley will ever get to heaven again, he is more than delighted to accept it. 

  
  


“Are you with me, dearheart?” Aziraphale voice is soft and soothing, bringing him back to reality. The smile of the angel above him shines brighter than the star Crowley help created. And Crowley, still shivering through the aftershock that rings louder than the heaven’s horn and completely blissed out, just murmurs ‘ _Always, angel, always_ ’ with his nearly inaudible shaking voice and smiles back at his angel so now they are just grinning at each other like bloody twats.

  
  


Perhaps they are. No one in their right mind will ever risk their lives walking into heaven or hell just to get burnt in the hellfire or drown oneself in the holiest water to save each other or wait for six thousand years for a moment like this like them.

  
  


“My darling serpent,” The angel whispers with the gentle hand placing lightly on his forehead, "Flung out of the space."

  
  


**_‘You're the one habit I just can't kick._** **’**

  
  


Crowley simply wants to crawl under his angel’s skin, to wrap himself in his ribs, to feel his warmth and all loves and joys and be held there forever.

  
  


‘ _I love you, angel, I am in love you, have always been for six thousand years and for the rest of eternity that is yet to come,’_ the train of thoughts is flooding his mind but words are too difficult now, too heavy to leave his mouth so Crowley simply closes his eyes, nuzzling his nose on Aziraphale’s hand and hoping that the angel may feel it.

  
  


“I know, darling, _I know._ ” replies Aziraphale, “ _And the feeling is mutual, obviously._ ”

  
  


He lets out a faint laugh, reminded of their time in St James’s Park in 1862 before replying, “ _Obviously._ ”

**Author's Note:**

> So guess who just watched this show for the seventh time. This bird. *finger guns* I just cannot get enough of my gay chaotic soft snake boy and a gay nifty English bastard of an angel ;-;
> 
> This work is based on the song 'Heaven's Gate' by Fall Out Boy (lyrics = bold phrases) and heavily influenced by the song 'Drumming Song' by Florence + the Machine and the notorious "My angel, flung out of space." quote from Carol because I just can't help myself.
> 
> Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy writing it. Stay safe out there and have a wonderful day. Big hugs xx


End file.
